Do you have something you can’t or wont (or both) let go of? Metaphorically? Literally?
I do. I have lots. Which is probably not very healthy, but I can’t help it.
Like, for instance, I have this teddy bear. His name is Bill, you know, after my Uncle Bill. Because my Uncle Bill and Aunt Trudy (who has since lost her battle with breast cancer thus making Bill’s meaning even greater) sent him to me for Christmas one year. Somehow, I got attached. He became that stuffed animal for me. The one most kids can’t sleep without. He made the move with me to GA, and I may or may not occasionally sneak him into my bed. But now-a-days he hangs out on the floor by my bed. Because I just can’t let him go
Or, like my first car. A car I swear I hate. Or hated? I was one of those lucky kids when I turned 16 who were handed a car. A nice, working vehicle that had been built within the same decade. At only a few years old, the Camry shined in all it’s glory. A car I dubbed a “mom” car and worked oh so hard to make look cool: impossible. And even since the days of needing a “cool” car, I whine about it. The CD player hasn’t worked in years. The front windows no longer open making me the ghetto-tastic girl at all drive thrus who has to open her door. It has terrible luck in my parents’ driveway where it’s been hit twice. I hate that car. Or do I? As you read, the Camry died on Thursday. Big time died, like, killed the engine. It’s a goner. So much so that hubs said we’d probably have to scrap it and just buy a piece-of-crap to last me a few years until we could buy something better. My heart broke. But I don’t want to get rid of the Camry. So now we’re in car-limbo. Thankful for our loaner which I surprisingly love driving and waiting to find a new, reasonably priced engine for the Camry. Because I can’t let go.
You’ve got a witches nose. A girl said that to me once. In the seventh grade. I remember what I was wearing when she said it. I remember where in the classroom I was sitting when she said it. I remember how my heart sank into my stomach. I was an awkward girl at that age, I mean, who isn’t? But to hear someone criticize something I couldn’t change stung. And I’ve carried that around with me all these years. Because I can’t let go.
Or when I found a sign taped to my locker in high school: Joey’s a Fat Heifer. I still wonder sometimes if that’s really true. Is it? I think about it too often because I just can’t let it go.
Or his phone number. Every time I’ve transferred phones since he’s been gone, I hesitate over typing it in. I always do. And I’m sure I will for a good long while longer. Because that’s something I’m not ready to let go of.
Anything you carry around with you always? We all have baggage. What’s yours?